


Old Friends

by ShadowyStar



Series: Holiday Collection [4]
Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Ciani has a plan, Ciani is visiting, Damien is depressed, Drama & Romance, Hanami fic, M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Romance, Sort Of, Spring, and up to no good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowyStar/pseuds/ShadowyStar
Summary: Ciani has a master plan involving both her ex-lover and her former sorcery teacher.
Relationships: Gerald Tarrant/Damien Vryce, past Ciani of Faraday/Damien Vryce
Series: Holiday Collection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/615364
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Characters, places, locations, organizations and situations not appearing or being mentioned in the original trilogy are likewise mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use without permission.
> 
> A/N: No, this isn't Damien/Ciani, or what do you think I'm a slash writer for?  
> Part of the Holiday Collection. Well, I never said I was going to limit myself to western holidays, did I?  
> Originally posted on ff . net, now slightly revised.

* * *

“Damien!” a female voice called across the street. A familiar voice, and one he wasn't expecting to hear ever again. Because _that_ was completely impossible. Ciani was in the rakh lands. Wasn’t she?

“Damien Kilcannon Vryce, damn you three times, don’t you pretend you’re deaf!”

And there she was, standing in front of him, laughing at him with those shining eyes he’d loved long time ago.

“Ciani,” he said. She looked really good, in the rakh style long skirt and short-sleeved blouse, both the color of ripe wheat and richly embroidered with colorful thread. Her hair was done in a style he remembered respected female rakh wearing.

“Oh, you’re not deaf, thank gods,” she said, still smiling broadly. “And that’s my name since the day I was born, yes.”

He couldn’t help laughing.

“I thought you were still in the rakh lands,” he made, not sure how to react. Their parting hadn’t been easy, to put it mildly.

“Where I intend to return to as soon as possible when I’m finished with my business here.” A mischievous sparkle entered her eyes – almost but not quite a challenge.

“So, what brings you to Jaggonath the Famous then, oh Lady Loremaster?” He gave the expected sarcastic reply, throwing in a little bow for good measure – still unsure where to thread, what to say or do. This wasn't the woman he used to know, not a stranger but also no longer familiar.

It wasn't just the style of her clothes or the hair, much longer than it used to be, and bleached by the sun or even the thin lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled, instead of the ageless appearance he'd grown used to. It wasn't even that bubbly vitality, so very different from the dignified former loremaster of Faraday. He almost felt he could fall in love with her all over again. Almost.

“Visiting old friends,” she answered, smiling brightly again. “And some new ones. By the way, I'm somewhat in a hurry but would you like to have a picnic with me, say tomorrow?”

“Um, sure,” Damien said somewhat puzzled. Picnic?

“Great!” Ciani beamed. “I'll take care of the food. Pick me up at the 'Blue Moon', around two?”

“Okay.”

“See you tomorrow, then!”

And with that she whirled away, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

* * *

They sat on the ground in Jaggonath’s only park, blankets spread out under a blooming nu-cherry tree. The day was sunny and warm, as often in the end of March, the sky a deep bottomless blue, dotted with the almost transparent white of clouds yet to appear. Delicate petals danced on the breeze, slowly covering the ground around them with a carpet of pale pink, their faint scent permeating the air.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Ciani said softly.

He nodded slowly.

“Back on old Earth, there once was a country where they used to have a festival to honor the beauty of blooming cherry trees,” she continued. “The symbolism was lost somewhere in the Dark Times but I suppose it was to celebrate the spring, the beginning of life.”

“But they are so fragile and die so quickly. There must have been better symbols for the sheer vitality of spring.” He opened his hand and caught a few petals.

Ciani shrugged.

Damien looked up where pale blossoms met blue skies. “They are beautiful and bloom for such a short time … like life.”

Ciani's laugh sounded forced. “If I knew you were such a romantic, I wouldn't have left.”

“Trust me, you would have. And I'm not romantic, just depressed.”

“Aww, Damien, don't be! Not on such a perfect day – and not in _my_ company. Let's celebrate!”

He sighed, allowing the tiny pieces of spring to fall from his hand and get caught in the wind where they belonged. “Let's. So, how did you manage to make new friends in Jaggonath from the _rakh lands_?” He still cared enough for her to try and conceal the effort he was putting into making light conversation.

Her eyes showed her true age for a brief second, seeing far too much. Her smile, however, was warm and bright. “Ever heard of pen friendship?”

He grinned. “Well, yes, _of course_ everyone would dance in joy at getting a letter from behind the mysterious Canopy, from a mysterious loremaster. By the way, how does that ever work? Don't tell me the rakh offer postal services.”

She laughed. “They don't. But there are people who started trading with the rakh and they carry my letters back to the Continent. You know, I wrote you as well – to Ganji. Little wonder I never received an answer.”

“How were you to know I wasn't returning there?”

“Right. _You_ , however, could have at least visited!” Exaggerated anger in her eyes.

“Right,” he mimicked, about to add another sarcastic reply. Then decided to go with the truth. “I never tried because I never wanted to. Ci, I always knew we were temporary. With my former job and yours, it wouldn't have worked. I didn't want to complicate things.”

Ciani made a short and decisive nod. “I know. I understand. And you're right, of course – it wouldn't have worked. I knew when we fought the Keeper of Souls, probably even earlier. But by then I knew for sure. And I knew I couldn't keep you interested.” Regret flashed briefly in her no longer ageless eyes, quickly replaced by something else, something less bitter.

He opted for a different topic. “Ci, the sex was probably the one thing we did right. It was good, great even.”

“I'm not talking about the sex. And it _was_ good. The second best in my live.”

He faked indignation. “What? Only the second best?”

Her laugh was unrestrained and joyous. “The best one I'm getting in my current relationship.”

“Do I know him?” The question carried undertones of protectiveness he felt being an ex he was entitled to.

Because Ciani was a loremaster and very, very perceptive she heard and gave him an overly exasperated glare. “You most surely don't know _her_ ,” she replied.

He smiled. Being happily bisexual himself he most certainly could understand the appeal. “Well, details,” he waved her on.

“She's rakh and her name is Vaseth. She's also Hesseth's younger sister.”

“Hess had a sister? She never talked about her.”

“The rakh have a quite different understanding of 'family'. For example,” she launched into a probably lengthy explanation, “they don't make a distinction between children of your mother and those of your mother's sister. They all count as siblings. That isn't unusual if you remember they've originated from pack animals...”

And just like that he was back in their happy days – when no shadows of the Forest loomed on the horizon, when life was full of teaching and laughter and ridiculous purple robes. When all things he'd worried about were how to impart his expensive knowledge of sorcery into his sometimes less than enthusiastic students and what to bring home for dinner or if they should go out and enjoy various, not yet familiar Eastern foods. Ciani's voice carried him back to those warm evenings and lazy weekend mornings spent in bed, to a time when he'd ever so briefly considered settling down, and trying to find out if what they'd had was enough to build a long-time relationship or even a family upon. Then, Ciani's memory had been lost and he'd realized, like he said earlier, that their affair was exactly that, no more than an affair – transitory, and had begun to resemble any of his past relationships. All of them intense, bright, and short-lived. Looking back, he'd realized long ago there was an emptiness within his heart –or maybe his soul– that nothing and no one could fill completely. Some of his partners, both male and female, had accused him of being unable to form a solid relationship and what'd stung the most wasn't that they were right but that he simply wasn't willing to try and change it for any of them. And even Ciani, beautiful, strong Ciani – she hadn't been enough.

“–haven't heard a word I said!” she exclaimed.

He resurfaced. “Sure thing I did. Pack creatures, different social structures, matriarchy, no restrictions on same-sex pairings – unlike humans ages ago. Loose understanding of next of kin, strong clan ties instead. Did I leave anything out?” Tuning out the teaching priest's voice while still grasping and remembering the main points of the subject taught was a skill he'd prided himself back in his novice days.

“Oh. Okay.” Her soft voice carried her confusion. “You looked a bit spaced out.”

_Damn,_ he swore inwardly. He usually was better at keeping up a façade. “Sorry then. The sun and the warmth, I guess. But I _was_ paying attention.” He couldn't help pointing out.

Ciani grinned, opened her basket and proceeded to place delicious looking food arranged in small dishes or on plates between them. “Talking about paying attention... I have various sandwiches, mixed pickles, salad and fresh fruit.”

Conversation flowed easily, touching less relevant topics like the Church's plan to send yet another expedition to the Southern continent and some more relevant ones like her still ongoing research and his growing business and he managed to stay focused enough to meet even a loremaster's standards. With some bitterness he thought that if a Iezu had refused to play poker with him, his skills were surely enough to fool a former Adept. Even one as skilled as her.

“You know I wasn't talking about sex earlier,” Ciani was saying. “I felt I couldn't keep you with me, keep you fascinated enough to stay. You need someone who challenges you on many levels, someone to keep up with your restlessness and curiosity, someone who accepts every part of you. More than that, someone who would need you and whom you would need as much in return. And I was never that person. You see, we never needed each other.”

“No, we didn't. But we were good.”

“Just not the best.”

“No, not that,” he agreed. “Are you and Vaseth the best?”

That gained him a rare pleasure to see the accomplished loremaster Ciani of the Rakh, formerly of Faraday, blush like a school girl on her very first date.

“Yes, we are.” She recovered fast, however. “So. Are you seeing someone?” There was an intensity to her question he couldn't quite place.

He swallowed against the sudden tightness of his throat. “No.”

“But your heart is taken, isn't it?”

More like _broken_ but that was something she didn't need to know. “Yes. … No. I don't know,” he deflected.

“Let me guess: it's complicated.”

Complicated? No. Things _had been_ complicated during his and Gerald's last journey, had been the highest level of 'complicated' at said journey's painful end. Now, now nothing was complicated. He was here. Gerald was somewhere else. End of story. “No, it isn't.”

“But that's the reason you're moping.”

“I'm not moping!” he protested, chuckling, surprised not only at the fact that he _was_ laughing but also that it was honest and not forced at all. “What am I, a teenage girl with a crush?”

They laughed together and again, he was surprised at how good it felt, to be able to laugh with someone. Even if said someone was just a substitute.

Growing serious, Ciani looked at him with something akin to pity. “I don't know about teenage –men usually don't think with their brains, too– but this is no crush.”

He grinned. “No need to go all feminist on me.”

“Okay, that was a broad hint if I ever got one...” she said softly, and her eyes were full of understanding. Perceptive as ever. “I just forgot just how good you are at rhetorics, Damien.”

He shrugged carelessly. “Being a ex-Priest does have its uses, doesn't it?”

“Does this 'ex' bother you?”

“Not that much,” he said. His faith had been twisted long ago, twisted and changed and for all of it, tempered, purified. By Jenseny's desperate sacrifice, by Gerald's even more desperate one, by his own – small and big ones. Sacrificing his faith for his faith _did_ have an certain ironic ring to it, now didn't it? It seemed appropriate, fitting, he no longer wore robes signifying a religion he'd outgrown. “Not much. I still believe in the same God as before, even more strongly so. And I'm still a member of my Church, the Matriarch made sure of it. I'm just no longer a cleric. And since Healing was the most important part of my being a Priest and that's impossible now... How do _you_ cope with it, with not being able to Work?”

There was pain in her eyes, pain at a loss he'd never be able to fully comprehend.

“I'm not sure. Being with Vaseth, being _loved_ helps. Having responsibilities helps. And ... I went through it before. Only back then it was much worse because the Dark Ones had taken away my Adeptitude not just my ability to Work. Now … I can still _See_ , Damien. My world is still _alive_. I may not be able to alter it anymore, not in the ways I'm used to but it's still _here, real_. I realize it must be different for you as I was never a Healer. I realize it must be difficult not being able to help.”

“Yes. But you're right. Having responsibilities helps. And I'm considering studying medicine again.” Sometime when the pain in his heart subsided which seemed highly unlikely in the near future. “That's what I'm running my business for.”

She gave him a bright yet slightly shaky smile, and passed him the plate of sandwiches, picking one for herself in the process.

Conversation ceased as they ate, having trailed off into comfortable silence.

When most of the food had vanished, Damien leaned back against the large tree they were sitting under, looking again toward the sky and allowing his thoughts to drift.

Inevitably, that non-quite-platonic, not-quite-romantic thing of a relationship he'd had with Gerald came to mind again. He'd recognized the mutual sexual attraction right from the start and had Gerald been human they would have taken the proverbial roll in the hay sooner or later. Probably sooner than later. Casual sex didn't involve complicated things like trust and comfort and love – those had developed later and with sudden fierceness. He'd never been able to tell when the compassion and desire to protect and redeem the other man he'd felt back then had crossed the fine line to love. Perhaps the process had been so very gradual or his denial so strong... He couldn't remember when he'd stopped to look for excuses and finally simply _knew_. This was why Gerald's apparent betrayal had hurt so much back then in the Undying Prince's realm. He'd forgiven the other man, of course. And had thought, foolishly, that they might have a chance even despite his other being undead and all. Then, Gerald's sacrifice had come and passed and Damien remembered how overjoyed he'd been because now, not only Gerald could be redeemed but the chance he'd wished for so much and for so long was finally within his grasp.

But the Crusade and Gerald himself had taken it away from him. He really should have known. He should have known because then he wouldn't have felt like he was being betrayed all over again. They had been ready to sacrifice their lives for each other, had saved each other many times over – how could Gerald walk away _now_? he remembered thinking. It'd hurt so much, to watch that new and unfamiliar shape disappear in the distance, and the pain – it just never vanished. And if he was bitter and broken on the inside, so what? Oh, he supposed he could have tried to find the other man. He even might have succeeded. Probably to no avail, though. What was there left for them to say?

Ciani stretched lazily, then took a short look into the basket and sighed in disappointment.

“We're out of beer,” she explained at his questioning look. “Wait here, I go fetch some form the grocery we passed by.”

“I should go,” he said.

“Oh, no. I should have bought more, knowing your bottomless pit of a stomach, so I'll go. You just wait. And don’t go away.” Again that strange intensity.

She jumped to her feet and rushed off.

He relaxed for the next fifteen minutes, watching light and shadows dance across the patch of short spring grass, then reached for the basket, searching for more fruit. He opened it and just stared in surprise. There _was_ beer in the basket, two bottles of it, dark and sweet, out of Jahanna.

And it was taking her far too long to return.

“Excuse me, is this place taken?” a voice asked.

He looked up.

And forgot how to breathe.

A young man, somewhere in his mid twenties, olive skin, black hair, clad in extremely fashionable clothes, was standing there, gesturing at the blanket Ciani had vacated.

Damien added two and two together, and got twenty four. And that explained everything, now didn't it? Ciani's curiosity about him being taken and that she hadn't asked about the rest of his journeys with Gerald. Looking past the stranger, he spotted her in the distance. She laughed, winked enthusiastically at him and disappeared down the street, very obviously not to return anytime soon. Vulk.

He sighed. “No, it isn't.”

Let the dance begin.

The young man flopped down easily, all careless, long-limbed grace.

“It's a long way from the Black Ridge Pass to Jaggonath,” he remarked casually.

“Yes, it is,” Damien said, and considered rising and just going home. Then again... Gerald was brilliant. Ciani was brilliant. To try escape a plan concocted by the two of them together was probably futile. He sighed. “Do I know you?”

“Gerald da Silva,” the young man promptly offered. “Gerald will do just fine.”

Damien refused himself a breath of relief. He had known the youth was indeed Gerald Tarrant, what did a name matter?

He met the expectant black gaze with a serenity he didn't quite feel. “You do know my name,” he said then. And here they were again, dancing subtly around each other and subjects forever beyond any discussion.

His name was whispered, barely louder than a summer breeze. “Damien...”

He closed his eyes briefly at the still-fresh pain inside his chest. Turning his head to look into those night black jewels and preparing himself for more pain, he squared his shoulders. To Hell with it... “Look, I don't have the time, the wish or the mental stability for any lengthy conversation with you, so why don't you say what you've come to say and then we part on amicable terms and hopefully to never see each other again?”

There was shock in those bottomless eyes, and hurt, and – even worse – understanding. Then, something else surfaced, only partially hidden by a no-less-familiar stubbornness – acceptance of expected rejection? That made about zero sense, less than zero even. What had those two planned?

The other man's voice was smooth however, showing nothing as he spoke. “There are many things I want to say but I guess we'll have enough time for them later. For now, I will settle for the answer to one single question.”

And there it was, that familiar arrogance, only now Damien could see the insecurity beneath, hidden less expertly than before. One God, how did you do this? How did you stand the simple fact there was no going back, no bridges across that river?

Damien crossed his forearms in front of him, desperately trying to hold the pieces of himself together, and more shock and understanding flared up in his other's eyes at that because this was still Gerald Tarrant who could read him better than anyone else. He had to count inwardly to five before he was sure his voice would remain steady but didn't care to hide all the pain and despair. “Go on.”

Gerald reached out slowly, carefully, as if not to scare him away, and uncrossed Damien's arms, taking his hands and holding them in a tight grip. Black, black eyes, deeper than the sky on a True Night, met his and held. The no longer unfamiliar voice was slightly uneven.

“Damien Kilcannon Vryce, on what conditions do I get to have you in my life as a friend, as a lover and maybe even more than that?”

And those beautiful, beautiful eyes were unwaveringly looking into his, full of sincerity and warmth – and something else, wonderful and perfect and right. It reached into him, deep down to his core and filled the cracks in his heart, gluing them seamlessly back into a strong, healthy whole.

“Why would you want to know?” He _had_ to ask, had to hear it voiced, _aloud._ Had to hear with his ears what he'd heard already with his heart.

His other's eyes shone. “Because I love you, you stubborn idiot.”

Was it really that easy?

He drew a slow breath, silently counted to ten.

In the end, it was.

“Just never leave again.”

The other man's voice trembled with unshed tears as he answered. “I promise, Damien. I promise.”

And there, in the bright light of an afternoon in spring, where all beginnings were fresh and new, Gerald Tarrant, now called Gerald da Silva, leaned in, and took Damien's face in his hands, and kissed him.

It was a perfect start.

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Extra Notes:  
> 1) I don't like Ciani but I also dislike character bashing so I hope my writing doesn't show just how much I dislike her. And she was an integral part of Damien's life for some time. I consider this fic an exercise in professionalism.  
> 2) If anything I wrote about the rakh contradicts the books, believe the books. I was on vacation when finishing this and didn't bring them.  
> 3) Don't ask me what kind of business Damien runs. In my previous fics I made him a cardiologist, the director of a hospital, a guide, a Knight, a walking Legend and so on and I didn't want to repeat any of it. For all I care it could be breeding sheep. Or orchids. Or crazy white bats from Hell.


End file.
